Opposites the edited version
by Isabel Juno
Summary: i messed up on the original i missed a plothole... heres the edited version.... CSI's go undercover and chaos ensues... GCR, Sandle kinda, Nicknew charecter


Title: Opposites the edited version

Summary: i had some holes in the original version so i'm fixing it... csi's go undercover and chaos ensues

Disclaimer: alas... i do not own csi..

Pairings: Gil/Cath Nick/ new charecter greg/sara

Spoilers: none that i can think of

rating : R for violence and sexual suggestion

Opposites: The rewritten version

By Isabel Juno

He danced with her head resting lightly on his chest. The song Strangers in the Night sang by Frank Sinatra floated in the air around them and he hummed to it. He could feel her smile even through his black button up shirt and it made him feel as if the floor was made of clouds. At that moment in time he couldn't have been any happier and Gil Grissom reflected on what had brought him here dancing with the woman he loved, and was fairly certain loved him.

At the same time in a different place

Nick's breathing was shallow and nervous, he'd never been like this around a girl before and it made him feel like a stupid clumsy kid, and he loved it. Her shy smile intrigued him and made him want to know her in every way possible. Fear of rejection was the only thing that kept him from her, her dark eyes sparkled when she looked at him and he couldn't have put a coherent sentence together if his life depended on it, which he had no clue that it did.

At the same time in a different place

Staring into his brandy thinking about his life and all the wrong choices he'd made and now regretted was something that made him wish he'd asked the barkeep to leave the bottle. Something had caused him to do the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life. He'd quite his job. He lifted his glass up to the light and swirled the contents watching the little dust particles that had fallen in drifting around. He sighed heavily and put the glass down on the bar. Warrick needed time to think. Time he didn't have.

At the same time in a different place

He hated Ecklie. There was no beating around the bush. He flat out hated Conrad Ecklie, and as he sat frowning at his black McDonalds coffee, he thought out a dozen different ways he could kill Ecklie, each way more gruesome than the last and each way more appealing to him. Jim Brass was not a happy camper and he honestly thought that killing Ecklie and turning himself in would be a nice, simple, fun, and neat way to end it all. He had no clue how he and the CSI's on the grave shift had gotten suckered into this. He only knew he had to find a way to fix it all.

At the same time in a different place

Sara laid silently the beginnings of tears in her eyes, staring at the ceiling in a room so dark that the ceiling couldn't be seen. Dark red blood from a gash in her forehead slowly trickled into her eyes, she didn't blink. A short distance away sat Greg, whose eyes were red and bleary. He sat staring at anywhere in the tiny, dank, and dirty, cell, anywhere but at Sara. He knew it was his fault that they were there. He struggled not to scream to the metal door that kept them separated from the outside world. He was so confused and pained. He had to get them out of there and he didn't know how to. The only exit, besides the door, was a small vent. A little hatch in the door slid open and told him to stay clear of the door or he'd get a mouthful of pipe slammed into his mouth. He glared at the door in a dead way; he'd already figured out that the only way to stay alive here was to hide all you emotions. The door opened letting in an almost blinding light and a small sobbing bundle was thrown in and the heavy door slammed shut. The little boy screamed in desperation and threw himself at the door repeatedly. The dull echoing filled the now stiflingly small cell.

"Its no use" whispered Greg. The boy ignored him, his small frame continuing to launch itself at the door, which might have well have been for all the good ramming it did.

"Your just hurting yourself," muttered Greg, "this isn't helping. Save your strength, you'll need it." The boy slammed into the door one more time before sliding down it to his knees and crying, his brown hair was tousled in a just-got-out-of-bed way and his clothes consisted of a short sleeve button up shirt and dirty torn blue jeans. His trainers were previously white and red and now almost uniformly brown from the dirt. He looked about 8 or 9 years old and looked completely helpless. Greg looked at him and immediately redoubled his efforts to think of an escape plan. Though he knew he'd need to be some sort of MacGyver to pull it off.

Sometime earlier in the week

Gil sat thinking that Ecklie had finally lost his little mind and or was completely baked. Since when had undercover work been a specialty of the grave shift? He reviewed the specifics on the assignment from Ecklie and sighed. At that moment he felt far older than his birth certificate warranted. Nick came in looking somber and disappointed and was closely followed by a bright and cheery Warrick. The two of them dropped into their chairs, Nick frowned at the table as if it had done something to offend him and Warrick started talking about a girl he'd met the day before. Nick frowned more intensely at the table and asked if discussion of women could be banned from work. Warrick seemed taken aback but he was sensitive to his friend's mood and immediately began watching the clock as if counting the seconds until he could go meet the girl from the day before. As Catherine came in looking ready to murder someone, Gil felt himself become highly nervous and began studying the table as if the most interesting and rare bug in the world was crawling across it and only he could see it. Still fuming Catherine dropped into her chair still swearing under her breath about something, Gil couldn't hear her clearly, and he could only hear obscenities being every other to come out of her mouth. Sara came in animatedly chatting with Greg who looked full of life and had his hair in a very spiky and bright style that night. They plopped into their chairs still chatting about what sounded like the world cup. Good, Gil thought, Sara finally has a hobby that doesn't include work or stalking me. He cleared his throat and waited for Jim to finish getting his coffee and trying to sneak in.

"Ecklie has given us probably the strangest assignment I've ever seen… if anybody here ever wanted to be a James Bond they're going to love this." Gil waited as everybody (except Nick who still sat glaring at the table, giving it a look like he wanted to introduce it to a chainsaw) turned their attentions to him. "We are going undercover to try and catch some thieves who are suspected of having mob connections. The Feds want forensic scientists to go because we can interpret and intercept evidence, as it becomes evidence. Also because Ecklie is a coward and volunteered us because he knew day shift was going to get picked otherwise." He paused to let everyone mutter angrily for a while; Catherine's renewed mutterings were particularly vehement. Greg piped up looking nervous.

"Well what exactly do we have to do?" a chorus of "yeahs" and "goddam Ecklie's" went around the room and Gil paused.

"It's all here in these files. Roles will be assumed by each of us, these have already been pre-assigned roles and there will be no switching." Gil handed out the files to their person and ignored the grumbling, "Also, we get paid overtime for doing this." He knew that none of them gave a damn about overtime they wanted to do their normal jobs. He didn't blame them, the whole concept made him very nervous.

Catherine was still furious at Ecklie for his off color comment to her earlier about her shirts and where the neckline was, but now this, she took the file almost violently from Gil and regretted it almost immediately. He looked like he thought she blamed him for this. She felt guilty and embarrassed. She knew Gil was nervous enough around her and she didn't blame him, she just wished he would keep a dinner date when he made one. She sighed inwardly and reminded herself that he'd been called in and couldn't find his cell phone, which, knowing Gil was all too likely. With any other guy she would have thought she was just being given the run around but Gil just wasn't that kind of guy. She sighed pushing her personal battles to the back of her mind as she opened the file. Her brain and heart seemed to stop working as she read it and Warrick voiced what she was thinking, "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" Gil frowned and shook his head. "I don't believe this shit!" muttered Warrick angrily, "do you know what they've got me doing?" he uttered more obscenities under his breath shaking his head in disbelief.

Gil cocked his head to the side and frowned deeply.

"I don't have a clue Warrick. I haven't read any of your files. Sorry you don't like your assignment but don't think you're alone there! They've got me singing in some lousy little night club called the Twizzlers." He looked completely lost and Catherine tried not to laugh.

"It could be worse." Proffered Catherine, "you could have to play your wife!" The completely and utterly lost look on Gil's face made Greg burst out laughing and made Jim smirk in a way that said quite plainly that the idea of Grissom in a dress both amused and disturbed him. For his part Grissom looked bewildered which made Catherine feel sure that he hadn't read any of the others files.

"Erm…." Was all he could say. Sara stared at hers for about 5 minutes before cursing Ecklie and his ancestors, in particular his mother. Greg tried to peer over Sara's shoulder and see her file.

"What'd you get?" He inquired curiously. She swatted him with the file.

"None of you business!" She snapped angrily. Gil sighed inwardly and wondered what on earth was so bad in Sara's mind that she'd act like this. Apparently he and Greg weren't the only ones curious because Brass slinked over behind her and ended up laughing so hard he shot steaming hot black coffee out his nose. Sara attacked him with the file. Brass was still laughing. He called out to the rest of the room.

"Hey Catherine maybe you could give Sara a few tips on how to pull of her cover!" Warrick started laughing so hard he fell out of his chair and Greg looked like he was trying to picture Sara stripping….. He looked like he enjoyed it. Gil rolled his eyes and thought that Sara needed to expand her horizon, there was nothing wrong with strippers or exotic dancers… he had rather a taste for them actually…… Gil pushed that thought out of his head and told them the rest of their instructions.

"Jim, you and Warrick are supposed to stay here and hold the fort, you'll have help from the day shift if Ecklie keeps his word, which I doubt. So just do your best and we can punish Ecklie for this later. The rest of us have our instructions in the files and we'll just have to deal with this for the next couple days. Let's make the best of this and think of ways to hurt Ecklie later." He ignored the grumbling and continued, "Cath, you better have your sister or your mother look after Linds and if anyone else has pets or plants that will need to be taken care of make a list of instructions and leave them with Warrick. Warrick, I've already made a list of how to care for my tarantulas and don't forget to play with them or they'll get surly." Warrick looked as if there was nothing he'd do to get out of that. Gil didn't really notice, he was worried about how he was supposed to learn all the songs he would need to know….. He wondered if improvisation would work, somehow he doubted it.

Greg read his file almost looking forward to this. It would be a welcome break from the lab and he was planning to find a way to sneak in some tanning time when he noticed that he'd been assigned a specific task besides his spying job. He had to take a special interest in the strip club in particular a dancer named Chastity. He felt a hard ball drop into the pit of his stomach. He glanced at Sara, wondering whether or not to ask. He decided that sooner or later he'd have to know, sooner might be better than later. He strolled over in a seemingly casual manner.

"So what is your stripper's name?" the next thing he knew he had received a sharp and rather painful slap to the face. "OOWWWWWWW!" He yelled angrily. "I need to know because when I'm undercover I'm supposed to pay special attention to a dancer named Chastity!" She still looked furious.

"Shut up Greg! And my name isn't going to be Chastity it's going to be Patience."

"I wish…." Muttered Greg rubbed his cheek. "More like petulance!"

"What did you say?"

"Nothing" Greg walked out angrily wondering how the light and cheerful conversation about the world cup had ended up being this angry almost virulent rivalry of the …. still morning.

Sara sighed. She knew she'd been unfair to Greg but at that moment in time she was so angry with Grissom and Ecklie that she was ready to lash out at anyone even poor innocent Greg. She rested her head against the cool metal of her locker door and closed her eyes just wanting to forget everything. The door opened softly and she heard the soft Texan accent of her friend.

"You mad about this too?" he asked gently.

"What do you think? I don't think anybody else got such a bad cover as mine is." She said quietly. Nick sat down on the bench a few feet away from her and sighed.

"Well at least you don't have to act like a complete scumbag. They've got me acting under the cover of some egotistical, arrogant, jackass, loser, wannabee black jack player."

"Sounds like Ecklie…" They both laughed.

"I'm just so angry about this, I don't know how to strip and I don't want to strip in front of anybody!"

"Well you could always get Greg to teach you. I'm sure he knows how." Suggested Nick. "As for the not wanting to thing, ask Grissom if he can do anything about it."

The warm feeling and relaxation that had begun to fill Sara dissipated with a frightening speed.

"No." She didn't say anything else. She didn't want to deal with Grissom. She'd put in for a transfer after he'd made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her intimately. She slammed her locker shut. "Thanks for trying to cheer me up Nick. See you in a few days." She stormed out of the locker room.

Nick wondered what was with Sara. She kept doing that to everyone. He sighed and stood up and stretched. He needed to get a big ego and he needed one quickly. He decided to go talk to Ecklie for a while.

Warrick and Jim sat going over the list of plants and pets that their friends needed them to look after.

"You're not going to believe this."

"What?"

"Guess what Greg's chive plant's name is."

"He has a chive plant?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. What's its name?"

"Wayne Gretzky."

"No kidding. Well that's not as bad as what Grissom's tarantula's name is."

"What's its name?"

"Henry the 8th." Warrick looked at Brass like he was nuts.

"Are you serious?" Brass nodded.

"I wonder what happened to the first 7."

"I don't know." Said Brass pensively. The two went back to sorting out the lists of plants and pets.

Two days later

Warrick couldn't take it. Not anymore. He wondered how on earth anybody could handle this. He felt like his head was going to explode and he actually wanted it to. No word from anyone else on the grave shift. He and Jim were both worried and both wondered if any of the rumors were true. The rumors said that the mob had found several spies in their midst and had executed them by cutting off their limbs one by one in front of each other. The rumors said that the bodies had been dumped in the desert. The lack of news from their friends made the two even more paranoid and worried. Warrick was close to the breaking point. He knew Jim was too. He could smell whiskey on Jim, a lot of it. He didn't blame Jim; he wanted nothing more than to forget everything that was going on. If that meant using a temporary liver harming downer to d it so be it! He sat staring at Henry the 8th wondering if Grissom would ever get the chance to play with the Mexican red-kneed tarantula again. The spider lifted its front legs and moved them in such a graceful and delicate manner that for a second Warrick could appreciate Grissom's love for the creature. The moment passed and Warrick simply stared at Henry knowing that he wanted to play. That made Warrick wonder exactly how you played with a tarantula without touching it. He could appreciate it yes, touch it hell no! Jim came in his face looked wearier than all hell and his eyes were rheumy and unfocused. He stared at the tarantula for a moment and then looked at Warrick.

"Glad I'm not you." He said calmly. He turned around unsteadily and staggered out to god knows where. Warrick sat there uncertain of what to do. He felt something touch his had and he jumped a mile high and looking around to see what had hit him he saw a small orange and black blur fly across Grissom's office.

"SHIT!" The spider had the fortune to land quite safely and perhaps happily, on a bowl of fried grasshoppers lying on a small table. Warrick walked over wondering what to do. He sighed and cringing picked up the spider whose hairs felt both prickly and soft and the same time. He carried Henry over to his cage, which Grissom had lovingly decorated with small pictures of other tarantulas and with sticks and dirt so that Henry could burrow himself a little hovel. Warrick slid the tarantula off his palm and fastened the cage door shut. He paused to wonder what had made Grissom love bugs in the first place. He hoped very much he'd get the chance to ask Grissom. He sighed and paused by the door to turn of the light, looking around at Grissom's office and wondering, wondering so many things and not having a clue where to find the answers.

At the same time in a different place 

Gil stared at Cath his mouth wide open. She smiled walked over and closed his mouth. She smiled, she had turned him into a gibbering idiot. That wasn't something she had thought she could do just by putting on a dress. Grissom's jaw dropped again and he voiced his opinion of her dress.

"Wow…" Cath smiled at him in an uncharacteristically shy manner. Into Grissom's mind popped a quote from the Iliad "Small wonder that Trojans and Achaeans should endure so much and so long for the sake of a woman so marvelously and divinely lovely." Unfortunately for Gil he couldn't figure out how to voice that, his vocal cords seemed to have betrayed him. He stood speechless and breathless and it made him feel foolish. He stood there gaping and completely forgetting about his struggle with his bowtie, Cath smiled and fixed his bowtie. Gil just stood there looking rather flustered and Catherine struggled not to laugh. He looked completely confused and stunned and she couldn't help but be amused by it. They made their way down to the Twizzlers and Cath sat down in a lush corner booth and ordered a scotch and sat back to watch the show. Gil walked slowly toward the stage and in his head he could here the funeral march playing, his legs felt like green Jell-O and as he stepped onto the stage and approached the band he glanced out at the audience. He saw Cath sitting in the back her elbows resting on the table her fingers laced together resting her chin on them as she watched him, he knew what song he wanted to sing. He approached the band and told them what to play they nodded and as the announcer introduced him as Frito Papaya and in his head Gil cursed whoever had come up with that name. He walked up as the band started up first the drums beating the lively intro to Fly Me to the Moon and as it started and he opened his mouth nervously to sing he thought that after this he would, for sure, be wearing cement shoes and sleeping with the fishes. But as he bumbled his way through it nobody seemed angry, no tomatoes were thrown, and overall people actually seemed to enjoy it. They weren't avidly listening, they sat talking and enjoying their drinks but that was fine with him. As he finished his first song and the band waited for him to tell them what the next song was he saw Catherine smiling at him from her table while sipping her scotch and he knew what song he wanted to sing next. He turned and asked the band if that was ok with them, they nodded and he began singing. This was a song he was comfortable with, he'd had the record when he was a kid and had always sung with this one. As he sang he could see the smile on Catherine's face widen and get shy, and that was enough to assure him she got the message. He sang for what felt like an eternity at after a while some people even got up and danced. He sang what felt like every Frank Sinatra and Louis Armstrong song under the stars. The club finally emptied out at about midnight and he was able to go drop into the seat across from Cath and drop his head onto the table.

"That tired?" she asked. He moaned softly.

"That embarrassed." He groaned. "I did terrible didn't I?" She smiled at him.

"It was good."

"Nobody liked it. Not even me."

"Well I liked it…" She said softly. He lifted his head slowly and looked at her. He looked doubtful.

"Are you just trying to make me feel better?" He inquired in a most un-Grissom like way. She smirked.

"Is it working?" He dropped his head back onto the table abruptly. It made a loud smacking sound.

"Ow…"

"Well don't smack your head on the table then." He ignored her.

"I was just teasing Gil."

"Yeah, and now I know I did horrid."

"No I mean about the asking if it was working. I really did love it." She told him softly. He lifted his head again.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I especially loved the second song." He smiled at her and looked up toward the speakers as they began to play Strangers in the Night.

"Care to dance?" He asked. She smiled as if in shock.

"The great stoic Gil Grissom dances?" He laughed; it was a genuinely amused laugh.

"Yes he does if he has a radiant woman to dance with." Catherine sat there almost in shock, but then she smiled and stood up a mischievous smile on her face.

"Alright, lets go dance the night away before the song ends!" Gil stood up laughing at her choice of words. They walked side by side out onto the corner of the dance floor where a few other couples were dancing. Catherine wrapped her arms around Gil's neck, his skin felt warm and incredibly good. His hands slid around her waist and pulled her closer. Her head rested on his chest as they danced slowly to the music and Gil thought of how lucky he was at this moment. He danced with her head resting lightly on his chest. The song Strangers in the Night sang by Frank Sinatra floated in the air around them and he hummed to it. He could feel her smile even through his black button up shirt and it made him feel as if the floor was made of clouds. At that moment in time he couldn't have been any happier and Gil Grissom reflected on what had brought him here dancing with the woman he loved, and was fairly certain loved him.

Slightly earlier in the night 

Greg felt fairly certain that Sara was more comfortable dancing up on the stage than she would ever admit. She gyrated her body in a way that he'd never expected the buttoned down CSI would. Truth be told it wasn't as hot as he had expected, he wondered whether it was lack of experience because he sure didn't think it was lack of enthusiasm from the way she was moving! He sat front row staring at her in the same way all the other perverts in the strip club were. His cover was that he was a businessman for some no-name electronics company from New York City on a shady business adventure in Vegas for his boss. When really he and Sara were there to gather information on a mob connected software salesman named Gabriel Marcus. It was this actual shady businessman that Greg sat next to. He'd introduced himself as Devon Kottons and ordered Gabriel a drink, Vodka on the rocks, and ordered himself one too. He pretended to absorb himself in Sara's dancing while Gabriel was on his cell phone with a mob member. He listened intently as Gabriel Marcus, the slickly dressed businessman with a wife and two Goth teenagers who hated him, set up a meeting with the men of the mob. After a long and rather arousing night of strippers dancing ended and the club closed Greg hung around in the back alley behind the club waiting for Sara. She showed up about an hour after closing, when Greg had just about given up hope, humming I care 4U, which was one of the songs she'd been dancing to.

"Did you find out anything? Because I sure as hell didn't." She asked brisk and businesslike. He nodded and told her about the conversation he'd overheard.

"Did you get the address?"

"Yes."

"Lets go then."

"Ummm…. Shouldn't we just report it?" He felt nervous.

"C'mon Greg where's your adventurous spirit tonight?"

"Apparently you stole it." She laughed and grabbed his shirtfront and kissed him deeply. He felt stunned. He pulled back and asked if she'd drank too much. She responded she hadn't had a single drink. She pulled him into another kiss and he didn't resist. Her lips felt warm and sensual against his.

Twenty minutes later 

Greg felt he should have known that she wouldn't have done that if she weren't trying to get him to go spy on the secret meeting. He sighed loudly, telling himself to admit she had no interest in him and that he needed to give up on her. Now they were sitting in a vent above a room full of drunk and angry mobsters who were all armed to the teeth. He cursed himself for giving in. He glanced at Sara whose attention seemed to be completely devoted to the scene below. The men of the mob seemed to be discussing something about a partnership between two small time mobs and organizing a drug smuggling operation from Venezuela. The two bosses seemed to be a sneaky, little, dark haired man named Donald Ricarto and a very, robust, and sincere looking, bald man who the others called David Velcher. Of all the times for Greg's allergies to act up they had to act up now. He sneezed. Incredibly so did Velcher at the exact same time. Ricarto did not say gesundheit and this seemed to anger Velcher. Greg couldn't help but think that for mobsters to prize good manners seemed a little bit funny. However in this case the angry Velcher wouldn't not let the little faux pas of his fellow mobster go. He pulled out a gleaming 22' and pulled the trigger and all hell broke loose. Sara and Greg found themselves dodging bullets send through the ceiling by mobsters with terrible aim.

"I THOUGHT THAT THE MOB WASN'T DUMB ENOUGH TO START SHOOTING IN VEGAS THESE DAYS! NOT SINCE THEY CAN'T BUY OFF THE COPS ANYMORE!" shouted Greg over the racket. Sara shrugged and replied.

"TOO MUCH BOOZE!". A few unlucky bullets destroyed the vent's stability and it snapped open with a grating squeak and lo' Greg and Sara took a two story fall that, quite luckily for them was broken by a few unlucky mobsters. Everything stopped, and it almost seemed that in the haze of gun smoke and shouts that time had stopped still. An unspoken truce was called between the two rival mobs as they tried to decide what to do with the two unfortunate Sherlock Holmes wannabes. A silent order went around the mobsters and they closed in on Greg and Sara, grabbing them roughly. They seemed to have decided that the two weren't worth the waste of bullets. Sadly, hitting people with gun butts cost them nothing and they took full advantage of that.

A short time later 

Greg woke up with a groan and Sara informed him she'd woken up about 15 minutes earlier and that he'd been unconscious for about 37 minutes. He groaned again.

"What do we do now?" He asked. She looked thoughtful. They both looked around they're almost pitch-black cell. The floors were dirt but they had to be far underground. The walls were plain, gray cement, and the door was what looked like solid steel. No way out. A little hatch on the door opened and let in almost blinding light immediately Sara started to scream for help. The door opened and for one brief moment Greg thought it was someone to help them, but then a man he recognized stepped into the room. His arm was bandaged heavily with what looked like clothe napkins and he held a long, slender, steel pipe in his left hand. He looked like he knew how to use it. Sara dove at him and he swung the pipe backhandedly like he was returned a drive in a tennis match. Sara fell. Greg screamed. The pipe hit him hard. He knew nothing but blackness.

Half an hour later 

No way out. Those three words kept repeating through Greg's mind. No way out. No way out of a lot of things. The cell. His life. Sara's death. He looked over at her. She looked as if she were simply staring at the ceiling. Sara laid silently the beginnings of tears in her eyes, staring at the ceiling in a room so dark that the ceiling couldn't be seen. Dark red blood from a gash in her forehead slowly trickled into her eyes, she didn't blink. A short distance away sat Greg, whose eyes were red and bleary. He sat staring at anywhere in the tiny, dank, and dirty, cell, anywhere but at Sara. He knew it was his fault that they were there. He struggled not to scream to the metal door that kept them separated from the outside world. He was so confused and pained. He had to get them out of there and he didn't know how to. The only exit, besides the door, was a small vent. A little hatch in the door slid open and told him to stay clear of the door or he'd get a mouthful of pipe slammed into his mouth. He glared at the door in a dead way; he'd already figured out that the only way to stay alive here was to hide all you emotions. The door opened letting in an almost blinding light and a small sobbing bundle was thrown in and the heavy door slammed shut. The little boy screamed in desperation and threw himself at the door repeatedly. The dull echoing filled the now stiflingly small cell.

"Its no use" whispered Greg. The boy ignored him, his small frame continuing to launch itself at the door, which might have well, have been for all the good ramming it did.

"Your just hurting yourself," muttered Greg, "this isn't helping. Save your strength, you'll need it." The boy slammed into the door one more time before sliding down it to his knees and crying, his brown hair was tousled in a just-got-out-of-bed way and his clothes consisted of a short sleeve button up shirt and dirty torn blue jeans. His trainers were previously white and red and now almost uniformly brown from the dirt. He looked about 8 or 9 years old and looked completely helpless. Greg looked at him and immediately redoubled his efforts to think of an escape plan. Though he knew he'd need to be some sort of MacGyver to pull it off.

At the same time in a different place

Nick walked down into the hotel lobby to observe the bar lounge and hopefully gather some information. He'd come to the conclusion that he made a terrible jerk. He hated having people hate him. He was the nice guy and always had been. He sat in a dark green lounge chair staring off into space. He was wearing rich, deep red dress shirt tucked into charcoal dress pants and shinier than stainless steel black dress shoes. He looked slick and he had his short hair slicked down too. He sat silently holding his brandy snifter loosely and sipping on occasion. He'd learned nothing in the last two days except that he made a terrible egotistical jackass. He sighed audibly and glanced at the clock. 11 o'clock at night. A soft almost lyrical voice spoke behind him.

"Excuse me, do you mind if I join you. You look as if you could use somebody to talk to." He was about to tell her to go away when he turned and looked at her. He felt the urge to tell her to leave him be disappear. Her soft black hair fell to her shoulders. It wasn't straight but it wasn't curly either. It had waves in it and her eyes spoke of the ocean as well. He could see how deep blue they were even from behind her dark purple, framed glasses. Her skin was fair and contrasted sharply with her slim black dress, which showed off her curves and ended just about her knees. He recovered himself enough to gesture for her to sit at the chair next to his. He was still under his cover otherwise he would have stood up like a proper texas gentleman would. She smiled shyly and sat down with an unparalleled grace. She was drinking rum with coke zero. He tried to be brusque with her and failed. She started laughing and it was a soft musical laugh like strings being plucked on a harp. He stopped talking looking bewildered.

"What?"

"You are terrible at playing a scumbag Mr. …….." He hadn't told her his name. He decided he could risk telling her his real name. He desperately wanted to make sure that he could see her again after this uncover stint was over.

"Stokes, Nick Stokes." She laughed again.

"Bond, James Bond." She said in the same tone he'd introduced himself in. He laughed the way that made the corners of his eyes crinkle and showed of all of his teeth.

"Am I really that transparent?" He asked curiously.

"Not really, I'm just observant. Or at least that's what the voices in my head tell me." He laughed at her joke and offered to buy her a drink. She laughed again.

"I'm not done with my first drink." And it was true. She'd barely touched it. He felt like a bumbling idiot. He decided to try to steer the conversation in a different direction. He had no clue where to take the conversation though. She had him completely flustered. Thankfully, she picked a new topic and she picked one he was very interested in.

"My name is Kathleen Storm."

"That's an interesting name."

"Sounds weird I know." She smiled shyly again and he felt himself blushing.

"No, no! Agh! I mean its very interesting but its not weird but….." He shut up. Nick's breathing was shallow and nervous, he'd never been like this around a girl before and it made him feel like a stupid clumsy kid, and he loved it. Her shy smile intrigued him and made him want to know her in every way possible. Fear of rejection was the only thing that kept him from her, her dark eyes sparkled when she looked at him and he couldn't have put a coherent sentence together if his life depended on it, which he had no clue that it did.

At the same time in a different place 

He had quit. That was the only thing he could do. He knew he couldn't handle it anymore. He'd lost it. He had no way to do his job because he had no case to lose himself in, no distraction. All he could do was sit losing his mind in the break room drinking coffee or sit in Grissom's office teasing Henry with a stick. He hated the helplessness. He had quit the only job he'd ever given a damn about. Now he sat in the hotel bar of a little known hotel on the outskirts of the Vegas strip. Staring into his brandy thinking about his life and all the wrong choices he'd made and now regretted was something that made him wish he'd asked the barkeep to leave the bottle. Something had caused him to do the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life. He'd quite his job. He lifted his glass up to the light and swirled the contents watching the little dust particles that had fallen in drifting around. He sighed heavily and put the glass down on the bar. Warrick needed time to think. Time he didn't have.

At the same time in a different place 

Warrick had quit. Those words resonated through Detective Jim Brass's head. What the hell had Ecklie been thinking? He'd driven Warrick to it. He'd driven Jim back into the deep recesses of the bottle and that was bad enough. He sighed sitting at his desk and wondering what the hell he was going to do. Gil would never have forgiven Ecklie for driving Warrick to quit and Jim to crawl back into the bottle. Jim didn't think that Gil would have believed Ecklie capable of sending him and over half the grave shift to their deaths, if the rumors were to be believed. All Jim knew was that he hated this, and more importantly he hated Ecklie. He hated Ecklie. There was no beating around the bush. He flat out hated Conrad Ecklie, and as he sat frowning at his black McDonalds coffee, he thought out a dozen different ways he could kill Ecklie, each way more gruesome than the last and each way more appealing to him. Jim Brass was not a happy camper and he honestly thought that killing Ecklie and turning himself in would be a nice, simple, fun, and neat way to end it all. He had no clue how he and the CSI's on the grave shift had gotten suckered into this. He only knew he had to find a way to fix it all.

11:30p.m.

Nick's breathing was shallow and nervous. He was breathing so fast he was starting to feel lightheaded and yet he still couldn't get enough breathe into his lungs. Kathleen seemed to sense this and it made her smile almost evilly at him. She knew what she was doing to him and took great pleasure in it. So far she'd weaseled his life's story, his hopes, his dreams, and his darkest secrets out of him; and all he had learned was that she'd had a greyhound named Duffy and that she was a fan of classic novels. It drove him mental not to know much about her. He finished telling her the story of his broken leg, a bucket, and an angry bull.

"Now it's your turn."

"I don't think I've ever had that happen to me!" She laughed teasingly. He smiled. She knew what he meant and he knew it.

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

"Yes."

"Ahh… so this is a game of sorts Mr. Stokes." She had all the sudden gotten defensive. Nick felt bewildered and completely stunned.

"Sorry… What? I just want to know more about you."

Same Place Same Time 

She looked like a tigress backed into a corner. She was scared and dangerous, not that Nick knew that latter. She hated the fact that he'd turned her into a bashful girl, by her standards anyway. She knew her job and she'd do it. She'd kill Nick Stokes, level three csi of the Las Vegas Crime Lab. She had her gun in her purse. A 22 caliber Intratec Protec with silencer, a small compact light gun at only 14 ounces and only 5" long and 3.5" high… a deadly, but compact weapon. She felt its reassuring weight as she shifted her purse. She sighed. She liked Nick; he was a sweet guy, exactly her type. She sighed again. The look on Nick's face told her exactly what he was thinking. He thought that he both annoyed and bored her; nothing was farther from the truth.

"So what do you want to know?"

"Everything." His answer surprised her.

"That could take a while."

"I've got time." She raised her eyebrows. What on earth did this crazy Texan see in her? She took a deep breath and spoke very rapidly.

"Okay… well how about we start with this… I was born in Michigan, I wear contacts most of the time but I hate them, my favorite color is purple, and I hate Rush Limbaugh more than anyone else, I love to read X-men comics, I like Coke zero, and I like chocolate chip cookies."

Nick just stared at her for a second with his mouth open. He hadn't expected her to blurt that all out so quickly. He closed his mouth struggling to both absorb this new information and to find something interesting to say. All he managed was.

"Oh. I like peanut butter cookies." She genuinely laughed. He grinned sheepishly. She felt a pang in her stomach and that made her furious. She never ever felt sympathy for her targets. It was bad for business…and business was very good. She decided to push that aside for now and enjoy Nick's company. She didn't want to think about the fact she was going to have to blow this poor mans head off. She shook these thoughts from her mind and fully engrossed herself into a debate about the best kind of cookie out there.

Midnight 

Gil lay in the soft dark blue, sheeted bed staring out at the skyline beyond the balcony of his room. The night's emotions had taken Catherine and him where they willed and where he and Cath had secretly willed. Now she lay sleeping serenely in his arms. Both of them weren't just content. They were happy, truly happy. That wasn't something that Gil had been for a very long time. He lay there stark naked his body still sweaty and now plastering itself to the sheets. He had wanted this for such a long time. He'd thought that she was mad at him for not showing up for their dinner date and not even calling. He'd explained that he couldn't find his cell phone, which was true, but he had still felt like she was angry with him. He thought this over as they lay there peacefully; he decided to put it all out of his mind. He kissed the top of her head softly and closed his eyes and waited hardly a moment for sleep to find him. For Catherine no dream could be better than that night. That night for her was the best dream she'd ever had, come true. She didn't think anything could ever be wrong, for her everything was right with the world.

At the same time in a different place 

Greg sat silently in the dank cell while the little boy, Miles, paced. Periodically Miles would slam both his fists against the metal door in anger while the door made a loud resounding bang in protest of its abuse. He'd thought of a plan. It was a desperate one. But it was a plan.

"Miles, I have an idea." The boy stopped pacing for a second and turned his dead serious electric blue eyes on Greg and then continued pacing.

"What?"

"The vents."

"What?"

"The vents run throughout the hotel. We can escape through them."

"They probably lead to a central fan and we'd end up as treif confetti."

"Treif?"

"Non-kosher."

"Oh… non-kosher confetti… is any confetti kosher? Agh! Beside the point! No we wouldn't some of the vents lead outside."

"How do you know?" asked Miles pausing again in his pacing.

"The vents are how we got in this place. Then we crashed, literally, into the mob party. Hey how'd you end up here?" He realized Miles hadn't told him. Miles grinned mischievously.

"They found me listening in a laundry chute."

"Can I ask you two questions?"

"Sure thing."

"Why were you listening and why a laundry chute?"

"In order, because I'm a snoop and because not many people can fit in a laundry chute. It's not the first place you look for people in. Usually."

"Oh. So do you want to try my plan." Asked Greg. Miles stared hard at him.

"Your plan is ill thought out and has a ridiculous number of flaws…. So yeah… I'm in." Greg grinned for what felt like the first time in days. He outlined the exact plan to his young accomplice who listened eagerly. They both ignored the dead body that shared the cell with them. It was too painful for Greg to think about and Miles was sensitive enough to the emotions of others enough not to say anything. Greg tore his fingers up and pulled a muscle in his shoulder ripping the grate off of the tiny vent. He set the grate down quietly ignoring his stinging and bleeding fingers. He looped his hands together and hoisted Miles up to the exposed vent. He knew he couldn't fit through but Miles could. The boy slid easily into the vent and told Greg to wait by the door. Greg slid the grate back into place after Miles and stood shaking looking at Sara's body. He struggled not to cry. He had to stay together for a little while longer.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He felt like it was his fault even though he knew that even if he hadn't given in and agreed to come here. He knew Sara still would have come. The door locked clicked softly but in the tiny room it sounded deafening. The door creaked open and Miles head poked in.

"Coming or are you getting to attached to this place?" he joked. Greg forced a smile and followed the boy. He shut the door behind him silently and relocked it. The vents out here were larger and Greg hoisted Miles back up into it and pulled himself up after him. He refastened the grate. They couldn't leave a sign as to how they got out. They crawled in silence. Each lost in his own thoughts. They would stop sometimes to discuss which turn to take at a duct junction but that was all. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of fear and anxiety they found an outside vent. The only problem was it was two stories off of the ground. They started to turn around when they heard a vent not too far off bust open. They heard the unmistakable clinking of metal against metal. Their escape route had been found by somebody with guns. The two would be escapees looked at each other terror apparent.

"We could jump and hope for the best." Said Miles. He was plainly terrified and adamant. There was no way he was going back in that cell. Greg nodded. Every bit of common sense told him that a broken leg was better than capture by these mobsters. They unfastened the grate as quickly and silently as they could. Both knew they needed as big a head start as possible. They peered out of the now open vent and looked for the best possible spot to try and land.

"Can you swim?" Asked Miles. Greg followed the boy's gaze. There was a small dingy hotel pool.

"It's not deep enough. We'd never survive the fall."

"Well what the hell do you suggest!" Asked Miles now on the verge of complete panic.

"Try to land in the bushes right below us."

"Your mental." Said Miles quietly. He pulled himself out of the vent partway to look above them.

"Nothing." He said glancing in the vent at Greg. He sighed miserably.

"Wish me luck."

"wha..?" Was all Greg could get out before the boy pulled his body entirely out of the vent and let himself drop. The winds whipped around the boy's fragile body as he dropped like a stone. He landed and let his body crumple on impact. He looked up at Greg and gave him a shaky thumbs up. Greg could here the pounding in the ducts behind him growing louder. He cursed under his breath and slid himself out of the vent shakily. He mentally calculated the chances of him landing safely, they depressed him so he tried to forget it and his fingers more slipped of the edge of the vent than let go. His heart lept and he cursed his sweaty hands. The air whipped around him whistling in his ears and as the ground came rushing up to meet him at a truly terrifying speed he focused on crumpling on impact like Miles had. He landed and bounced like a limp rag doll. Pain shot through him and he bit his tongue. He tasted blood and he knew in addition to that, he had a gash on his left arm where a bush branch had lodged its self and on his forehead, which had scraped against a bramble.

"Are you okay?" asked Miles in an incredibly concerned tone.

"Okay is a relative term. I survived the fall and I don't' think anything is broken." Greg groaned.

He pulled himself up testing his legs gingerly. "Mentally I'm far from okay."

"Well, we'll worry about your mental state later okay? Let's just go find the cops now."

Greg shook his head admiringly and winced as pain shot through his body. He took a few steps nervously. His legs seemed to be alright. They limped off toward the nearest doughnut shop. They fully expected to find the police there. In the distance he heard a clock chime one in the morning.

Two hours later 

Jim could hardly believe it. He'd gone to a dingy little doughnut shop to get a midnight snack for everyone at the lab and a bruised, beaten, bloodied, and battered Greg Sanders had limped in followed by a grimy and bruised and slightly bloody little boy.

"Greg?" he'd asked uncertainly.

"Jim, is that you or have I lost my mind?" Greg looked warily at him as if expecting him to dissolve into smoke. The little boy who had retreated behind Greg looking nervous piped up.

"Well if you've left your mind back in the cell I'm not going back for it." He said quietly. Jim's mind raced. What cell? Who was this kid? What had happened to them? Where was Sara? He had so many questions and didn't know where to start.

"Jim, Sara is dead."

Silence.

"What?"

"She's dead." Said Greg. His eyes looked dead. Jim tore out his cell phone and called the station and then an ambulance. Greg sat down and told the story with no emotion until he got to the part where Sara had been killed, at that point he broke down. The little boy who introduced himself as Miles Umar took the story as best he could from there.

At the Same time in a Different Place 

Kathleen lay in bed staring at the cheaply frescoed designs on the ceiling. She inhaled deeply and smiled as the sharp cologne/sweat smell caught her nostrils and caressed her sense with all the passion that had taken place only an hour earlier. She and Nick had spent a total of three hours talking. The first two were in the lounge where they actually ran into another one of Nick's coworkers, a man named Warrick Brown, who besides being completely trashed seemed to be startled to see Nick alive. He stumbled off muttering to himself about "halucinginaty thingys" leaving Nick with a bemused look on his face and half laughing. Kathleen watched Warrick's back retreating in a drunken stumbling walk. She had tensed when Warrick had come up to them with a look of recognition, but this man was so drunk and already thought he was hallucinating, that even if he did remember this the next day he'd never believe it. Her plan was intact. After the lounge closed up at two they'd gone up to her room. She'd had a plan. She'd kill him. She knew she could do it. She also knew she couldn't live with herself if she did. She had 12 bullets in the magazine in her handgun and she knew it wouldn't take that many. Two… tops…. If her hands were shaky maybe three.

At the Same Time in a Different Place 

Gil slipped out of bed silently and groped in the dark for his pants. His questing fingers found a pair of sweatpants he hoped were his. He slipped into them relieved to find they were his. His feet were soundless on the carpet as he tread across it over to the balcony where he stood surveying Las Vegas like a king over his kingdom. He felt the cool night air caress his skin. It was remarkably damp. It would rain in a day or two. He started slightly as Cath came and slipped her arms around his waist and rested her head on his bare back. He placed his hands on her much smaller ones and turned around her head rested on his chest and she seemed to be speaking to his chest as she mummured.

"Night is for sleeping." He smiled and held her closer.

"I know. I just. I don't get time to think very often. Here I'm getting a chance to think." He seemed to have something bugging him.

"Are you regretting this?"

"What getting to think?"

"You know what I mean." She said sternly. He smiled and shook his head.

"Yes I know what you mean and no I don't regret this. Being with you is one of the few things in my life I don't regret." She stared at him, conflicting emotions inside her. She was ecstatic that he wanted to be with her but she was worried and curious about what Gil regretted. He started humming softly; it wasn't a song Catherine wasn't familiar with. She turned her face up towards his to see him smiling almost sadly down at her.

"What song is that?" He simply smiled.

"It's a song my mother used to sing to me when I was little, before she lost her hearing. It's and Irish song called Pennywhistle." He resumed humming it and she pulled him back inside their room leaving the noise of Las Vegas behind.

At the Same Time in a Different Place 

She held the gun in her hands wondering if she could really pull the trigger. She looked over at Nick's still form and let out a shuddering breath. She looked back down at the gleaming black instrument of death. Her long black hair hung around her like a death shroud and she glanced at a long scar on her side and memories flashed through her mind; the man stabbing and dragging the hunting knife cruelly down her side as if he was gutting a fish, the trial where the bastard was given his freedom do to a hung jury that his lawyer had bought, the smirk that the jackass had given her as he'd walked out, the horror on his face as she'd smashed the life out of it with the knife but of the knife he'd cut her open with, seeing the blood all over herself… his blood, being handed her first gun and assignment by David Velcher who at that time had been starting up a new mob, and finally to Nick, finding the scar as he had removed her dress and running his fingers across it with a look of sadness, anger, and curiosity as he wondered who would ever want to hurt her. She smiled through her tear-streaked mask and held the gun closer for comfort though it afforded none. She looked up towards the sky as the clouds began to gather, she felt the damp air on her face and remembered how good Nick's arms had felt around her as he'd kissed her neck. She sighed and set the gun down on the red carpeted floor, it looked maroon in the dark. She kicked it away from her and wiped away her tears. She stood up shakily and made her way over to the bed and slid back in with Nick's still form sliding her arm around him. He shifted slightly to put his hand over hers. She inhaled his scent letting it envelope her and wash away her past. She would no longer be an assassin. She would make one more kill, her boss, David Velcher. Then she could begin her new life.

Two days later 

Warrick stood at the edge of Sara's grave staring down at the gleaming walnut coffin as it was lowered into the sodden earth. It was a rare drizzling rain in Vegas as if the weather knew how to set the mood. Sara was the only one who had truly died because of this but a small part of all of them had died inside because of the loss. Greg still looked dead but he also looked resolved. Miles, the boy he'd met in the cell, was standing next to him wearing a black dress shirt and pants, his normally grimy sneakers had been cleaned by the rain and shone brightly white and red again. Perhaps that was a sign of a new beginning for the team. Gil and Cath stood next to each other looking miserable but not alone. Warrick noticed that Gil had his arm around Catherine's shoulder and that she was resting her head on his shoulder crying into it. Gil had told the director that Warrick hadn't meant to quit there by getting Warrick his job back. Jim stood wearing a black suit looking somewhat lost. Sara and Jim had had their alcoholism issues. They had shared that problem and they had even talked about it occasionally. Nick stood in a black suit next to his stunningly beautiful girlfriend he'd met while undercover. She seemed to empathize deeply with his sadness, and with everyone's sadness and she looked truly honestly sad. She held Nick's hand comforting him. Warrick, for his part just hoped that catching the mob dealings was worth the life of his friend and yet he knew it wasn't even close to worth it. Ecklie had been fired for not preparing them better. Gil had been given Ecklie's job. He refused it. He had told the sheriff that his team needed to stick together now more than ever. Everybody on the shift had been grateful to him for that. The priest finished his prayer and walked off. Most people did. Miles stood at the edge of the grave and spoke to the coffin being buried.

"I've gotten to learn a lot about you in the last two days Sara. I've learned the good and the bad. And this is my conclusion. In a world of ever changing things trying to be constant made you miserable and trying to be variable got you killed. Opposites attract. That's why Greg cared so much about you. You were calm and serious. You were a work driven person. He's wild and spastic. He's a fun driven person. And they say opposites attract. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. I do know this. And this I value above all else I've learned about you. Greg loved you and that has got to mean you were a good person." And with those words the intuitive boy walked away. And so ended the life of Sara Sidle. Four people found love and true happiness. One lost hope for a love but found a young and good friend. One found a renewed faith and determination in his job. One found a new faith in his friends. One lost his job. One lost her life. In a world of opposites you never know what will happen next. The world goes on and it is ever changing. The only things that will always exist in one form or another in this world are love, hate, passion, trust, loss, and death.


End file.
